I'm still learning to love
by Taywen
Summary: '"Billions of Denizens and Piper's children and Raised Rats are dead because of me," Dusk says one night.' / Smutty coda to "Anywhere I would've followed you", that's literally it. Slash, Arthur/Dusk, Restoration!verse.


Disclaimer: The Keys to the Kingdom series does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Garth Nix, etc.

I don't think this will make much sense unless you read "Anywhere I would've followed you", but maybe it will. Basically, (a really angsty) Dusk joins Arthur on Earth years after the events of the series and they start living together because reasons.

* * *

I'm still learning to love

* * *

"Billions of Denizens and Piper's children and Raised Rats are dead because of me," Dusk says one night, his naturally quiet voice pitched even lower and thick with remorse and self-resentment.

It is not an exceptional night; Arthur is curled up at one end of the couch, playing some mindless game on his tablet while Dusk reads the science fiction he has come to adore. The current book lies open in his lap, obviously forgotten.

Arthur frowns and puts his tablet aside, shifting his attention wholly to Dusk. "They are dead because the Architect was a petty, short-sighted being. She's the one who chained the Old One to that clock, Dusk. It had nothing to do with you."

"I'm the one who helped the Will escape. Things could have continued as they were-"

"-for how long?" Arthur interrupts, shifting onto his knees and putting a hand on Dusk's shoulder. The Denizen barely tenses when they touch anymore, and after a moment leans into the press of Arthur's hand. "The Pit was a disaster waiting to happen. The Border Sea was impinging on Nothing. Saturday's the one who collapsed the buttress between the Far Reaches and Nothing, anyway."

"The whole House would not have been destroyed," Dusk protests, but weakly. He stares down at his book, not meeting Arthur's eyes.

"Saturday would have managed it," Arthur says. "She wanted to reach the Incomparable Gardens no matter the cost."

"I-"

"If anything," Arthur adds, merciless, "I'm more to blame than you. I'm the one who said it. I'm the one who fulfilled the Will."

"No!" Dusk denies fiercely, his dark eyes narrowed when he turns to glare at Arthur. "No, it was not your fault at all."

"I think that's my line," Arthur says mildly. He licks his lips reflexively; Dusk's eyes are drawn to the motion and his throat clicks audibly as he swallows.

Sometimes, Arthur thinks- But no, it's a stupid thought. Denizens can eat, but it's only for pleasure. He doesn't think that extends to other activities that are arguably necessary for mortals, like sex.

"Where did you get that scar?" Dusk asks; Arthur is surely imagining that Dusk's voice is any hoarser than usual.

Arthur blinks. It takes him a moment to process Dusk's words, then he remembers the scar running diagonally from the left corner of his mouth to the right side of his chin. He shifts into a more comfortable sitting position at Dusk's side, dropping his hand from Dusk's shoulder but still close enough that their elbows brush. For some reason, Dusk only wears t-shirts, hoodies and distractingly tight jeans. Sometimes, Arthur wonders if the jeans were an unfortunate joke on Monday's part.

"I was... in a rough place when Leaf died," Arthur says, frowning a bit in remembrance. "I was stupid. I drank a lot, stayed out all night. I got fired from my job and I didn't even care; it wasn't like it mattered." He can feels Dusk tensing at his side, but the Denizen remains silent. "One day, two in the morning, I'm staggering home from the bar, drunk. Some punk pulls a knife, tries to mug me." He shrugs, leaning his head back against the couch. "It's a pretty pathetic story, really."

"You aren't alone, Arthur," Dusk says quietly.

Arthur blinks, glances at him sidelong. "I know that."

"You-" Dusk raises a hand, falters, then curves his fingers around Arthur's cheek. His thumb brushes lightly over the scar, reverent. Arthur parts his lips without really meaning too, tongue brushing the tip of Dusk's thumb as he wets his lips.

He isn't imagining the way Dusk's pupils dilate, black consuming the dark grey of his iris.

"Dusk," Arthur says, curling his hand around the back of Dusk's neck when he makes to pull back. Dusk halts, uncertainty briefly crossing his face. "If you want me to stop," Arthur says, leaning in slowly, deliberately telegraphing his intentions.

"I don't want you to," Dusk says quickly, breathlessly. His thumb is still tracing restlessly over Arthur's scar. Arthur pulls Dusk closer, angling his head, and kisses him.

Dusk relaxes against him, his lips parting around a sigh of relief. Arthur takes the opportunity to lick inside, relishing Dusk's startled moan. He tastes sweet, like the tea he constantly drinks even though he's not in the House anymore. All thoughts of the House flee Arthur's mind when Dusk's tongue tentatively curls around his own, cautiously curious.

The angle is awkward but when Arthur tries to pull away to adjust, Dusk follows him, relentless. Arthur pushes him back against the couch, smirking at Dusk's whine of protest, and climbs into his lap. Dusk's eyes widen, the flush suffusing his face deepening.

"Too fast?" Arthur asks innocently, rolling his hips deliberately. Dusk surges up against him, a startled groan escaping his reddened lips as Arthur wraps his arms around Dusk's neck. "I'm serious, Dusk. If you want to stop at any time, just tell me."

Dusk blinks lust-hazed eyes at him. "I'll tell you," he says impatiently, as if Arthur is being the unreasonable one here, and presses their lips together again. Their teeth crack together awkwardly, but Arthur just laughs into Dusk's mouth and gentles the kiss.

He would be content, he thinks, to make out with Dusk forever, but then Dusk gets his hands on Arthur's hips, slips them beneath the waistband of his lounging-around-the-house pants and- stops.

"You're not wearing underwear," Dusk pulls away to say, managing to sound disapproving and turned on all at once.

"Mm, no?" Arthur presses back against his hands pointedly, then grinds against Dusk's obvious erection. He leans back, pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it off to the side, uncaring of where it lands. Dusk's follows suit a moment later, revealing that the flush of his face extends down his neck and chest.

He makes a noise of protest when Arthur stands, then another, soft sound as Arthur sheds his pants. Arthur huffs a laugh, barely catching himself with a hand on the back of the couch when Dusk grabs his hips and pulls him back into his lap.

"Dusk, what about your..." Arthur trails, distracted by the way Dusk drags his dark tongue over his palm and fingers. Before he can quite process that, Dusk's wrapping now-slick fingers around his cock, setting a brisk pace that soon has Arthur thrusting into his fist. "Dusk-" Arthur breaks off with a moan, cups the back of Dusk's neck and sloppily slots their mouths together again. He's already leaking, can't stop thrusting into Dusk's hand. He isn't kissing Dusk so much as mouthing helplessly at his lips, but Dusk doesn't seem to mind if his groans are anything to go by.

"I-" Arthur starts to say, but then Dusk tightens his grip and drags his thumb roughly over the head and that's it, Arthur's coming with a wordless cry. Dusk strokes him through it, murmuring nonsense against Arthur's hair. When Arthur stills, panting against his shoulder, Dusk grabs a tissue from the end table and wipes his hand and belly clean with a fastidiousness that Arthur thinks he should not find nearly as charming as he does. He presses his face against Dusk's neck, mouths lazily at his racing pulse.

"Was it good?" Dusk asks, his lips brushing distractingly against Arthur's ear.

"Mm, yeah," Arthur says, dragging the syllables out slowly. He'll give Dusk a hand in a moment, he just... needs to catch his breath.

"I wasn't sure," Dusk admits, "if you would like what I like. It was different doing what I liked on you."

Arthur groans, his cock making a valiant effort to harden again at the very thought of Dusk jacking off. Where? In the shower? At night, in the little room across the hall from Arthur's, one hand pressed over his mouth so Arthur doesn't hear him-

"Damn," he mutters, sliding off Dusk's lap to kneel on the ground.

"Arthur?"

"'m fine," Arthur says, shouldering between Dusk's knees. "Sit up, no- yeah, just like that." He peels Dusk's infuriatingly tight jeans and boxers off, pausing a moment to admire Dusk's cock. His thoughts get derailed with fantasies of riding that nice, thick cock until Dusk says, pained, "Arthur..."

His face is so delightfully flushed when Arthur drags his eyes up, usually immaculate hair a complete mess and lips shiny and red. Debauched is a good look on him. Next time, they'll do this on a bed, so Arthur can take his time...

"Arthur!" Dusk says, his voice hitching into a whine when Arthur rubs a thumb over the leaking head of his cock. His hips jerk, seeking some sort of friction, but Arthur presses him back down with his other hand. Dusk moans when Arthur absently licks his thumb clean, smirking. His breath stutters as Arthur leans in, pausing with his lips inches from Dusk's cock.

"We can stop at any time, you know," Arthur says gravely.

"I- If you stop, I'll-" Dusk's voice is strained, hands clenched at his sides; he seems to be too far gone to think of a suitable threat.

"You can put your hands on me," Arthur says mildly then, without further stalling, leans forward and sucks Dusk all the way down. Dusk bucks, or tries to; Arthur holds him down. It's been a while since he's done this, but he enjoys the weight of Dusk on his tongue, the way he tries to press into Arthur's mouth every time he pulls back, dragging his lips over heated flesh.

Dusk's hands settle tentatively on Arthur's head, resting there rather than tangling in his hair and tugging, which is really what Arthur would prefer. On the other hand, he'd have to take his mouth off Dusk to tell him as much, and that just won't do.

Arthur hums encouragingly, prompting Dusk to jerk against his hold once more, fingers twitching. It's close to what Arthur wants, so he does it again, smirking as much as possible.

"Arthur," Dusk says hoarsely, his voice cracking. "Arthur, I-"

Arthur splays one hand over Dusk's pelvis, holding him down while the other slips down to press just behind his balls as he takes Dusk all the way to the root-

Dusk comes with a harsh cry, curling over Arthur as he shoots down Arthur's throat. Arthur swallows obligingly, mouths teasingly at Dusk's cocks as he shudders through orgasm and slumps back against the couch.

"Stop it," Dusk finally mutters, tugging lightly at Arthur's hair.

"Good?" Arthur asks, his voice rough.

"Yes, of course," Dusk mutters, curling against Arthur's shoulder when he climbs back onto the couch. "... I didn't hurt you?"

"Of course not," Arthur says immediately, stroking absently at Dusk's sweaty hair. Dusk presses into the touch, a contented expression on his face. Arthur leans over slightly, kisses Dusk's ear. Slyly murmurs, "Next time you can pull my hair and hold me down," and smirks at the way Dusk moans.

* * *

(omake)

"Ah," Monday says. "I'm glad Dusk is thriving." Though he perhaps wishes that he'd set the Seven Dials a few hours apart from the scene they're currently observing.

"Arthur seems content," Art agrees, nodding.

Sunday('s Noon, Monday adds, belatedly; he wonders if he will ever become used to the way things are now) bursts through the door to the Seven Dials. "Suzy said there was an emergen-_What are you watching_," he demands, horrified. "Oh my god, stop watching _right now_ you're basically watching _yourself_-" this is directed at Art, "-and _your son_-" to Monday, "-having _sex_."

He must be upset, Monday muses. Sunday hardly ever slips into the mortal phrases that he grew up with.

"They're only kissing," Art says mildly, just to rile him up even further. Monday sometimes wonders why Art brought Sunday back at all. Their relationship is, on the surface, civil - but to anyone who knows either of them well, it's really anything but.

"I think it's cute," Monday adds, because he and Sunday don't really get along either.

"For now," Sunday mutters darkly, awkwardly shuffling around. He settles on glaring at the nearest clock, resolutely ignoring the scene.

"Oh. That's a bit. Hm," Monday says a few minutes later, walking hurriedly over to the dials and resetting them. The image disappears.

"I'm telling Arthur you watched them when he comes back to the House," Sunday promises.

"Do you really think he'll return?" Arthur asks, wistful.

"Oh my god," Sunday repeats, disgusted. "Go see Suzy, now." Art goes; were he anyone but the Creator of the Universe, Monday would have described his exit as a slink. "And you! I can't believe that you- you _abetted_ this," Sunday adds, rounding on Monday.

"Son doesn't seem right. Younger sibling would be more accurate," Monday says.

"That is not even the point," Sunday says, "and you know it."

"Stop being so dramatic," Monday advises him, and walks out to the sound of Sunday's indignant spluttering.


End file.
